


In The Hours Before Dawn, There Is A Silence.

by TowerGirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Drug Use, F/M, Hurt, M/M, Multi, Suicide, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowerGirl/pseuds/TowerGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The morning that Stiles leaves he is awake long before dawn."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just Act Normal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/544745) by [zosofi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zosofi/pseuds/zosofi). 



> Warning: This is a very angsty fic so please be aware there are no happpy endings.
> 
> Inspired by Zosofi's fic "Just Act Normal" and a message on tumblr looking for angsty fics of unrequited Sterek love.

     The morning that Stiles leaves he is awake long before dawn. In fact he has not slept all night, instead he has lain fully clothed above his sheets staring at his ceiling. His mind is blank and he keeps it so, otherwise he wouldn't be able to do this. 

   As the first rays of daylight creep into his room he gets up, pulls his abandoned lacrosse bag from under his bed and begins to fill it with the basics. A few clothes, cash, his laptop, nothing of sentimental value, he leaves the red hoddie on his bed, the photos on his wall. He hesitates for a moment at the family portrait which resides upon his bed side table. Then he removes it from it's frame and wraps it's carefully in one of his shirts. It's the only item in his bag that has any claim to “Stiles”.  


      He moves silently through the empty house, popping his head into his fathers room despite knowing full well that his dad has the night shift. As he descends the stairs he runs his fingers along the bannister , the way he use to as a kid, feeling every groove in the wood. His grip tightens when he reaches the final step but he lets go and carries on. 

      He exits the house from the front, tosses the bag into his Jeep and drives. There's no note, there's nothing he can say. On the kitchen table sits his mobile phone and house key. 

     The morning that Stiles leaves no-one notices him go. From their beds they do not see his Jeep pass through, then out of Beacon Hills. He slips away from their lives and does not look back as his home town vanishes slowly into the distance.


	2. Chapter 1

Sheriff Stilinski sighed as he examined the paperwork piled up in front of him. The day had been long, his night shift extending way into the afternoon with only an hours sleep on his lunch break to keep him going. Yet still there was so much work incomplete. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, he had to go home. Stiles hadn't called and it worried him, the teens behaviour had become increasingly erratic over the last year and the previous month events appeared to be only the tip of the iceberg. There was something there the Sheriff wasn't getting and he needed to find out what. The clock chimed six breaking his thoughts. He glanced at the remaining work and decided, he was going to have dinner with his son for once. 

He pulled himself up, off the uncomfortable desk chair and removed his jacket from the back. The paperwork he left in it's untidy piles, he'd sort it out tomorrow. He grabbed his keys and just as he was opening the office door, the phone rang. Temptation to leave it to ring out unanswered was strong in his mind but duty called. 

“Good evening, Beacon Hills police station, Sheriff Stilinski speaking,”

“Hey Dad,”

Stiles tone took his father aback. The teen sounded quiet, with none of his usual energy.

“Hi Son, what's up?”

“Nothing I just, I just wanted to say that I'm okay,”

“Are you sure? You don't sound so good. Do you need me to pick up some pain killers on the way home?”

“No, I'm fine Dad,”

“Stiles,”

“I'm fine,” the reply was harsh. Down the phone Stiles was silent, almost as if he was debating hanging up. Worry churned in the Sheriff's stomach.

“Okay, well I'm just leaving the office, I'll see you soon, we'll talk when I get back,”

“I love you Dad,”

“I love you too Son, I'll see you in ten,” Stiles hung up and the made once more for the door. Something was very wrong.

When the Sheriff pulled up outside his house his worries intensified. Stiles Jeep was not in the driveway. All the lights in the house were out, clearly empty. Perhaps Scott had called with a last minute “emergency” John thought in a bid to reassure himself. Yet all he could think of was how Stiles how sounded on the phone. 

His fears were confirmed when he entered the Kitchen. Sat on the counter top were two things. Stiles phone, and house key. Panicked flooded through the man and he snatched up the phone. A list of miss calls glared up at him. There was at least ten from Scott, two from Alison, even one from Lydia. There was also several calls from someone named “Sourwolf”. His Son must have just gone for a drive, a day to himself, some peace. Of course, that's why he rang. He'd be back tonight. Those thoughts didn't stop John taking the stairs two at a time as he raced to Stiles room. 

At first glance there was nothing out of the ordinary. Stiles bed was unmade, his floor littered with dirty clothes and sheets of paper. Nothing appeared to have been taken. For a second the Sheriff almost relaxed, then he saw it. Abandoned at the top of the bed was an empty photo frame. The comic book frame, the one Stiles mother had made for him for his tenth birthday, it usually held a photo from their last family vacation. Stiles loved that photo, it was the one last good memory he had of his mother, the photo he used to speak to, late at night when he thought John was asleep. A chill of realisation ran up his spine.

He stormed down the stairs and grabbed the phone still on the side. The dial tone rang barely once before it was picked up.

“Stil-”

“Scott, where the hell is my son,”

Derek freezes as Scott answers the phone but the sound of the Sheriff's voice diminishes his hope in an instant. So not only is Stiles not answering he's not even got his fucking phone with him. He lets his claws grow out in frustration, he really needs to destroy something right now, he's half tempted to take Scott's phone and pummel it into into the wall. 

Scott hangs up, his face resigned. 

“His Dad says he's not a home,”

Derek glares at the teen, but Scott remains indifferent moving from his spot in the doorway to sit down on Derek's sofa. 

“He says he took something with him, something he'd never leave behind.”

Derek slams his fist into the wall, plaster board shatters and leaves dust upon the TV. Scott says nothing. Since the Alpha pack left he had taken on the role as top Beta with an almost begrudging respect for Derek and in moments like these Derek was grateful for the co-operation. 

Their silence was broken by the arrival of his three youngest betas storming in through the door of the flat. 

“Well?” Derek snapped impatiently, ignoring the breathlessness of them all as they entered the living room.

“We had to turn back,” answered Isaac, “We managed to follow his scent till the end of the next State but there's no way we can catch up with him on foot, I have no idea how far he went but it doesn't look like he's stopping any time soon.”

Derek span round to face Scott, “Where would he go to,”

"I don't know,” Scott spluttered, “When Stiles does stuff like this he doesn't normally think it through, he could be going anywhere,” 

Derek snarled letting his eyes go red.

“But, well his Mum came from Idaho, once he calmed down he'd probably head there,”

“Makes sense,” quipped Isaac flopping down on the sofa next to Scott“It fits with the direction of his scent,”

The Alpha and stalked out of the living room, he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. Scott followed him down the corridor. 

“What the hell man, where are you going?,”

“To find Stiles,”

“What,” Scott stepped in front of the older man blocking his path, “So you're just going to leave the rest of the pack here,”

“ I'm sure you can handle them,” Derek made to move forward again but Scott wouldn't move. He held the Alpha's gaze as if he was going to challenge him.

“No, your the Alpha Derek its your duty to stay here, I'll go after Stiles, I've known him for a long time, I'll be able to track him down,” 

“You haven't even got a car,”

“Lend me the Camaro,”

Derek snarled but tossed Scott his keys. Derek was by far the more experienced tracker he had no idea what he'd say to Stiles once he'd found him. An apology would probably be the best place to start but he wasn't sure Stiles would even listen. Scott smiled and took off down the stairs, Derek watched him go then called out after him.

“Scott,”

“Yeah?”

“Bring him home,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that took less time then I expected. Already amazed by the love for this story so I hope this Chapter was more substainal. I aimed to upload weekly from now on, (posibly more frequent especially with "motivation" :P) I have a vauge idea where this story is going so prepare for angst.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any Amercian readers in England a fag means a ciggerette.

     Stiles woke the next morning shivering. His mouth was dry and his bones ached from the cramped position he had been sleeping in on the back seat of his Jeep. He twisted around till he was sitting and looked out the window, the sun had risen filling the car-park with light. The previous day he had driven without stopping for anything other than gas. Paranoia told him that if he lingered in one place for too long, angry red eyes would soon be upon him. He had only stopped driving when tiredness overruled him. At some point during the last leg of his journey he had crossed over the Idaho border, other than that he had no idea where he was. All he knew was that he was far away. Further than even werewolf feet could follow.

     He reached into his pocket for his phone to check the time when he remembered, he'd left it behind. For a brief moment he wondered if anyone had tried to contact him but quickly pushed the thought away, he needed to focus. First item on the agenda was to find out where the hell he was, and secondly food, lots and lots of food. Nerves had prevented him eating yesterday and his stomach was growling with the injustice. He grabbed his bag and clambered out of his Jeep, stretching is sore limbs for a second whilst he figured out the direction of the nearest food source.

     An hour later he was sat in a shabby but comfortable café with the knowledge that he was currently in the outskirts of Rexburg, Madison County. According to google maps he was a sixteen hour drive from home, he had driven further than he had realised. He smiled to himself and switched off his laptop. Picking up his coffee he surveyed the room. It had just gone ten and the café was virtually empty save a few locals having a late breakfast. Windows which looked out onto the street filled the room with light, save the row of tables tucked away at the back where Stiles was currently residing. As his eyes followed people rushing by, he felt invisible. Safe. Behind the counter the waitress was watching him, he quickly turned to the paper in front of him. She had looked concerned earlier when he had gone up to order and Stiles didn't want to attract attention.

     Skimming through the paper he stopped at house and apartment listings. He glazed over the more official ads knowing one look at how old he was, he would be sent packing. Most of the apartments were way out of his price range, he was going to have to get a job asap. He focused his attention instead on flat shares, eliminating those with “likely to murder me in my sleep” tenants which unfortunately took out most of his options. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't hear the waitress approach him.

     “You alright kid?”

     “I'm fine,” he shot out on instinct, flicking his head up to meet her gaze while simultaneously covering the listings with his arm, the waitress frowned, “Er, I mean, some more coffee would be great, please,”

     He flashed her a “Derek” smile but the girl just bit her lip, eyes lingering on the dark circles beneath his own.

     “Sure thing,” she said clearing his table, “I'll be right back,”

     Stiles watched her go. She was probably only around Derek's age but she was acting with almost motherly concern. He'd better leave soon, she might call the cops, it wouldn't take long for the information to reach his Dad. A stab of guilt ran through him. It wasn't the time to think of such things. He returned his attention to the paper and that's when he saw it. The ad shone out to him like a beacon;

 

_Flat share, two room apartment, East Rexburg._

_$320 a month, bills inc._

_First month to pay in advance._

_No questions asked._

_No time wasters._

_Call: 208-315-8626_

     Excited, Stiles ripped out the listing and shoved it in his pocket just as the waitress returned with his coffee.

     “There you, go, you need anything else?”

     “Yeah, could I get the bill please?”

     She nodded and walked away, glancing back at him cautiously as he shoved his things into his bag. Stiles met her at the till.

     “That'll be seven dollars please,”

     He handed her a note and held his hand out for the change but she hesitated. She was staring at his sports bag.

     “You visiting friends?”

     “Yeah something like that,” he smiled once more but still her doubt remained clear on her face, she dropped the change into his hand.

     “Have a nice day,”

      Stiles thanked her and headed out, once he was out of sight he raced to his Jeep before she could change her mind and come after him. He didn't need anyone looking out for him, not any more.

     *

The phone booth reeked of urine. In fact he was pretty sure it was used as a toilet a lot more than for it's intended purpose. Trying not to breathe in Stiles held the phone gingerly to his ears and punched in the numbers from the listing.

     “Yeah?” the voice on the other end was male, young and gruff was sleep. Stiles felt a flicker of hope.

     “Er, hi, I'm phoning about the apartment?”

     “You able to pay in cash?”

     “Yeah,”

     “When do you want to look around?”

     “I'm good whenever your free,”

     “I'm free now,”

     “Okay, what's the address,”

     The man of many words reeled off an address and promptly hung up. Stiles stared down at the phone in his hand wondering whether he was walking into the trap of a psychopath. Which, going by Stiles track record was highly likely.

     Ten minutes later Stiles pulled outside an dingy apartment block. The lower levels were decorated in graffti and the surrounding, noticeably nicer buildings, appeared to be looking down on it. Perfect, thought Stiles. He got out of his car, slinging his sports bag over his shoulder. The stairway was littered with fag butts. Scanning the list of residents he located Mike T, as directed on the phone, in thick block capitals of flat 5B. Licking his lips nervously he reached out and pressed the buzzer.

     “You the flat guy?” presumably Mike's voice grumbled through the speaker.

     “That's me,”

     The door buzzed and clicked open. Stiles stepped inside. Despite the buildings outward appearance the foyer was clean and light. He felt a glimmer of hope it didn't seem like a bad place to live, especially on his budget. The lift was bust so Stiles headed up the stairs. On the third floor he passed a girl around his age who eyed him suspiciously, other then that he saw none of the other residents. The door flung open the moment he knocked on 5B and a lanky male leaned in the door way. He was roughly a foot taller than Stiles and seemed no older than his early twenties. Mike apparently had only just rolled out of bed, his hair a mess of tousled brown spikes, his slender build highlighted by the baggy shirt he was wearing inside out. He moved to one side and dipped his head indicating Stiles to come in. Not a psychopath then, decided Stiles, merely another idiot who doesn't understand the purpose of full sentences.

     “Right, I'm Mike, this,” he gestured to the fairly large open planned room, “Is the kitchen come living room, there's a spare cupboard and half the fridge for your stuff. You can help yourself to my stuff,” he paused glancing at Stiles “expect booze, as along as you replace it. Keep your shit out of the living room when your not using it. Down here,” He moved towards a hallway on the far side of the living room, “bath room first door, your room second, my room opposite, you don't go into mine I won't go into to yours, deal?”

     Stiles nodded and they moved back to the living room. It had a threadbare sofa facing a decent sized TV. A guitar rested against a coffee table littered with paper.

     “Shit like toilet paper is dual responsibility, if it runs out, but more, all the bills run through my name so you just have to give me the cash at the start of each month. Don't do anything stupid that could wind my ass in jail, keep the noise down after 2 am and don't be late on the rent. Any questions?”

     Stiles stood blank for a second still waiting for the punch line. It didn't see possible that things could just work out for him like this. Then again there was still plenty of time for Mike to stab him in the shower.

     “When do I move in?”

     “When you pay the first months rent,”

     Stiles dropped his bag onto the floor and pulled out a wad of notes. He handed the rent to Mike who took it warily.

     “You got any ID kid,”

     Stiles faltered. So much for being able to pass for a few years older but he really needed this room, he handed his driving license over.

     “Genim?” Mike snorted “why the fuck would you use a name like that kid if you didn't bother changing your age?”

     “That's because it's my real name,”

     “Seriously?”

     “Seriously but call me Gem,”

     “Didn't realise we were so close,”

     “We're not, but your pronunciation sucks dude,”

     Mike laughs and walks over to the kitchen and tosses something at Stiles.

     “That's your key, don't lose it, I've already had to change the locks after my bitch of an ex tired to smother me in my sleep,”

     The older man veers of towards the bathroom and Stiles heads towards his room. It's sparsely furnished. A single lays beneath the window with a stunning view of a brick wall, if Stiles opens it all the way he can get out onto the fire escape which is kinda cool. There's also a small desk crammed in the corner that looks like its been taken from a yard sale. He tosses his onto the desk and falls down on the bed. He closes his eyes and tries not to think of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll! (I really won't be keeping this pace up) So what do you guys think of Mike?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are great motivational aides *hint hint*


End file.
